


this is a place where i don't feel alone

by Mothervvoid



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Light Angst, POV Third Person, Platonic Relationships, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Spain Without the S, no beta we die like schlatt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-04
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-17 07:07:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29837859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothervvoid/pseuds/Mothervvoid
Summary: "My first day on the server, I killed my son! It was pogchamp and then I cried!"
Relationships: Technoblade & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 22





	this is a place where i don't feel alone

**Author's Note:**

> excuse me while i ignore all of the latest lore streams in favor of writing this instead.
> 
> yes the title is from To Build A Home by The Cinematic Orchestra and Yes i recommend you listen to it while reading this lil blurb.

The next time Philza sees him, God is building a house. 

Board by board, brick by brick; he painstakingly builds his home the way he built his vault— from scratch. From the ground up. He lays the board and brick and sets the glass and wrings his sore hands and joints with satisfaction.

He built this house far out of L’manberg’s reach. A place where he could be himself, unbothered, where he could turn over a new leaf. Peace. At least for a little while.

But that morning, Philza crests the horizon, stumbles down the snowbank towards the Blood God’s home with tear tracks on his cheeks and three-day-old bloodstains dried on his sleeves. He shambles over like a zombie, fumbles for something to hold onto as if he were blind.

Carl chuffs in his half-built stall, and noses Technoblade forward, towards his oldest friend. 

The Blood God does not weep. But when Philza collapses in his arms, breathless and dizzy and shaking with sobs, he draws the other man close and lets him cry. An arm around his back, a hand against the back of his head. Philza’s own hand grips his wrist like a vice, like an iron shackle. Like Technoblade is the only thing keeping him connected to the earth.

"He's gone, he's fucking gone and it's all my fault, oh God Techno, _it's all my fucking fault—_ "

He knows all too well what Philza is talking about; the death of a nation and a man and his faulty hopes and lofty, overzealous ideals and the shrieks of Withers and _do you want to be a hero, Tommy?_ The blood of the Son on the hands of the Father; the same hands that passed Technoblade an infant Wilbur to hold, if only for a moment.

Technoblade never liked children, he was not made to be that gentle; but the memory of Philza trusting him to hold his son had stuck with him. The weight of that baby sits heavily in his arms now, phantasmal. It is as if he holds two people in his arms; Philza, and Wilbur's ghost. He cradles them close, his friend and this memory, the only thing keeping them tethered to the earth.

The Blood God does not weep. But when he bows his bloodied head and gently shushes Philza, if his voice shakes, neither of them mention it.


End file.
